


eiso halacrene

by ienablu



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Morality, Imperial Jyn Erso, Multi, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 02:58:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9528833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ienablu/pseuds/ienablu
Summary: “Based on the information you were able to retrieve from Bastion, we have uncovered that the Empire has a research facility working on building a super-weapon. It is nearing completion, and we need to know everything we can about it as quickly as we can.”Or, Cassian is sent undercover to Eadu.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saellys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saellys/gifts).



> Hannah, oh my Hannah. I've tried to figure out what to say here, but you probably know it all already. But to go with the obvious, Happy (belated) Birthday~ and I hope you enjoy reading this almost as much as I enjoyed writing it. ♥
> 
> (Remember when I estimated that this would be 4.5k? Good times.)

The mission comes to him from Senator Mon Mothma.

“Based on the information you were able to retrieve from Bastion, we have uncovered that the Empire has a research facility working on building a super-weapon. It is nearing completion, and we need to know everything we can about it as quickly as we can.”

Cassian nods.

Mon Mothma stares at him. Her face is neither soft nor hard, her posture neither open nor closed. He has always thought of her like falling snow – calm and serene, with the potential to storm into an avalanche. The potential brews under the surface as she tells him, “You can turn down this mission, Captain.”

He frowns. “Why would I?”

“I have been keeping a very close eye on your performance. You truly are one of the Alliance’s best intelligence officers.”

The words do not bring him the pride it once did. He deflects by prompting, “But?”

“Even the best are allowed to take breaks between missions. I understand your drive, but the Alliance depends on your wellbeing just as much as they depend on your intel gathering.”

“I feel fine,” Cassian says. And he does. He got in and out of Bastion without injury. He’s not in pain. He’s fine.

Mon Mothma nods, the slightest tilt of her head. “I’ll have General Draven finalize the briefing. You leave for Eadu tomorrow morning.”

*

Eadu is storm planet in the Calaron System.

After maneuvering through four ships, arriving at and departing from six different planets, all over the course of a few days, Cassian is not exactly pleased to see a storm world outside the Imperial shuttle viewport. 

Gathering intel on warm planets or moons is the best. After warm climates come cooler climates. There’s less variables in moderate weather. Tempers flare in hot or arid climates, but with the right provocation it can lead to the best intel. Cold planets or moons require a great deal of cozying to get information, which is time that Cassian sometimes doesn’t have.

In stormy weather, in rain and sleet, people are jittery and on-edge. They withdraw into themselves, afraid to step out too far past their comfort in a subconscious deference to the weather.

Cassian has weathered enough storms in his life, he can get the intel the Rebellion needs, but that doesn’t mean he has not tired of storms.

The shuttle sets down on a landing pad at the edge of the platform. After a few hundred feet, the platform stretches into a hangar. Under the cover the hangar provides, a dark figure stands obscured against the bright lights of the interior.

The figure has the advantage in a few different ways. He is likely armed, while Cassian is not. He knows the layout of the Eadu base, while Cassian does not. He is dry, while the torrential rains lash against Cassian, soaking his uniform and limiting his mobility. Cassian cannot run, either, cannot seem uncomfortable or urgent; he has to stride towards the hangar without seeming to hurry.

As he approaches, the figure comes into focus. Standing in an impressive white uniform with a billowing white cape is Orson Krennic.

His brain goes into a recitation of Krennic’s file. Full rank is Lieutenant Commander, currently acting as Director of the Advanced Weapons Research Division. Fifty-one years old. Idealist. Ambitious.

“Welcome to Eadu,” he drawls, while Cassian is still in the rain.

“Thank you, Director,” Cassian says, as he steps under the overhanging, voice feeling loud in the sudden muting of the rain.

“Oh, no, I should be the one thanking you, Sergeant Willix. Being assigned a sergeant is nothing if welcomed. Although I, nor any superior officers, put in any request, we can only be grateful to receive additional personnel.”

“Recruiting is at an all-time high,” Cassian says, smoothly. “And given the importance of the work you are doing here, it was only a matter of time before the Empire started supplying additional officers. Reports indicate that recruitment will continue to increase at a rate of anywhere from a five to twelve percent.” The recruitment rate does not account for the numbers of deaths the Empire is facing, but reports do not dwell on the death toll. 

“One can only hope that any additional officers sent are as well-informed as you,” Krennic murmurs in reply. “A droid will see you to your quarters, as well as direct you to Officer Chesber to start your shift tomorrow morning. Unless you would prefer to start your shift later in the day?”

“I should be fine starting tomorrow morning. Though I apologize for any inconvenience in disrupting you at this late hour.”

Krennic’s gaze is openly assessing. He smirks, and there’s the faintest shake of his head, and then he’s striding off. Over his shoulder, he calls, “I look forward to working with you.”

A droid appears at Cassian’s elbow, and leads him down a series of bright, fluorescent white hallways. After a few turns, the lights dim, creating a smoother transition to the dark quarters the droid shows him to. His quarters are miniscule, not more than three widths of his bed and not even one and a half lengths long. 

His uniform falls into a sodden pile and he lets it stay there for a minute. There is a closet that opens up to have droids tend to uniforms. It’s sparsely filled, only two sets of off-duty clothing. He pulls on the standard black sleep shirt, the standard black sleeping bottoms. It’s a relief to be out of the wet clothes, but the cold of the planet has already seeped into his bones.

There’s nothing to do for it, though, so Cassian hangs up his uniform for the droids to dry, and falls asleep.

*

The morning comes dark and gloomy as the night was. It’s unpleasant, but an unpleasantness he can deal with.

His uniform has been dried and pressed, though it is no comfort.

This is not the first mission for which Cassian has donned an Imperial uniform. There is a mirror tucked away into the closet, and Cassian looks himself over. He remembers K2 reciting all the regulation angles, of his canisters and seams and buckles and hat.

In the back of his head, K2 tells him that his uniform is perfect, although his hair is too long for regulation.

“What are the chances that it will be commented on?” Cassian murmurs to himself. He’ll ask K2 when he returns to the Rebellion. K2 seems to appreciate that Cassian always returns from missions with a statistic question, so much as a droid can appreciate anything.

He stares himself down in the mirror. Sergeant Cassian Willix. Twenty-five. Newer recruit as an Imperial officer, had been saving up for all the advancement tests necessary, but in the meantime has been aiding the Empire as a volunteer.

Out into the now brightly lit hallway, Cassian demands the location of the mess hall from the first droid he passes.

The mess hall is a wide expanse of a room, seeming to be the full breadth of the hangar a few levels below. Tables stretch from wall to wall. It’s seemingly early, there are only five seated, all half-asleep and hunched over, but a glance over the hall has Cassian estimating there to be over two hundred seats. 

Cassian can look into the occupancy of the base later. It’s of no use for him to dwell on it now. He gets a tray and a slop of porridge, and he sits somewhere strategically unsound.

Halfway through his breakfast he hears the sharp clack of boots approaching.

Cassian is not a spy, he is a sergeant, and he keeps his body from shifting into a defensive position.

"I don't believe we've met."

Cassian stands up from the bench, and turns to address the officer. Dark hair in two braids, pale skin, mouth in a thin line. He nods at her. "Sergeant Cassian Willix,” he introduces. His gaze flicks to her placard. “It is an honor to be here, Captain.”

“Rallik,” she tells him. She is shorter than him, but she nearly seems to be looking down at him, her eyes are steely. Her voice makes no concession to the early hour. “Captain Jyn Rallik. When did you get transferred in, Sergeant?"

Cassian allows himself a slight frown. She doesn't trust him, in the same way Krennic doesn't trust him. And now she's looking at his history, to see if he will contradict himself on the simplest matter. "Only just last night, Captain."

She hums in reply. Her gaze is cold, and she is obvious in her assessment of him. "How long do you expect your post here to last?"

"As long as my superiors deem it necessary. I trust the Empire to know where I am best suited to serve."

"One would hope that you would hope to see through your mission,” she says, a thread of displeasure in her voice.

"I do not anticipate that I would be transferred without good reason."

She nods, though she does not seem pleased. "Carry on, Sergeant," she says coolly, before turning on her heel and striding off.

As if he would need her permission to continue eating. Still, he waits until she leaves the mess hall to sit down and finish his breakfast.

*

There is a fine line between creating connections and staying distant, and it is one Cassian can balance with ease. A droid takes him to Officer Chesber. As the officer details his post, nothing more than a glorified security officer, Cassian quietly assesses each of the other officers. He needs an officer who is eager to please higher officers, ambitious but with no potential for climbing the ranks.

On the way back from lunch, Cassian falls into step with Officer Vitton.

Vitton seems pleased at the approach, and immediately starts lauding the work Cassian has done so far.

Cassian smiles through the thin praise, waiting until Vitton talks himself out before asking, “How long have you been here, Officer?”

“Near three years, sir.”

“Anything I should need to know?”

“In what regard?”

“I was greeted by Director Krennic upon my arrival. I met Captain Rallik this morning. Are there any other higher officers stationed here?”

“One of the engineers, Dr. Erso, he has the highest rank on the base, but he keeps to himself mostly, one of those silent, brilliant types. The times he does interact with others, it’s only ever the rest of his engineering team, or the Director and Captain Rallik.”

“What role does Captain Rallik have on the base?”

“Imperial Security Bureau.”

“I would presume so. Which branch?”

He shakes his head. “Any. All. She’s extremely well-rounded.” He cleared his throat. “And I mean that strictly as an assessment of her professional skill-sets, nothing untoward, sir.”

Cassian raises an eyebrow.

“There is… no conclusive evidence to be found that she is Director Krennic’s daughter, but even if she isn’t, she may as well be. He’s been grooming her as his protege. And he has made his displeasure at… untoward commentary about her known. While there are no rules against interacting with other officers, or any rules about fraternization with other officers, it would be best to keep your distance from her, sir.”

“Thank you, officer. I appreciate your help, Officer.”

He beams.

Cassian nods in reply. “Now back to work.”

*

Cassian works through the day, offering to stay past his shift to better acquaint himself with his job. After his shift comes dinner. After dinner is two hours in the small, claustrophobic gym, and ten minutes in the small, claustrophobic showers. He doesn’t want to return to his small, claustrophobic quarters, and instead he returns to the mess hall.

The sea of table greets him, with a solitary figure among them.

Cassian would really rather be alone, but what must be done, must be done. He takes in every detail of the figure as he approaches. Human male, dark hair pulled back into a long plait, distant expression. His mouth is turned down in the slightest frown. "Do you mind if I sit with you?" he asks.

The guy startles, blinks up at Cassian. "Yeah – yeah. I mean, no, I don't mind."

Cassian nods. "Cassian Willix," he introduces.

“Ah. Bodhi Rook. I’m a pilot. You’re that new sergeant, aren’t you?”

"Word travels fast. I take it there aren’t often many new transfers?"

Bodhi snorts. "I guess you can say that."

Cassian quirks an eyebrow.

"What's… what's going on here, it's all very secretive. There's a scientist here that the Empire is very keen on protecting. And new personnel is rigorously screened by Director Krennic – but you weren't. And you weren't screened by the highest ranking Imperial Security Officer either."

"Captain Rallik?"

Bodhi nods. "Yeah. And if they don't like you… I mean, they don't really like anyone. But if they dislike you..."

"Am I going to be reassigned or am I going to mysteriously vanish?" He tries to keep it joking, but there is some dread to the thought. The hope for every mission is to make it back – and there have been a few missions where that hadn’t seemed possible, and he made peace with the potential he wouldn’t. But not on this mission. Not here.

Bodhi shrugs. "They've never let anyone on the base they dislike before."

"Well this should be fun, then." 

Bodhi lets out a laugh at that. “Lots of fun on Eadu.”

“I can tell,” he replies, quirking a smile at him. “What's keeping you in the caf this late at night?"

Bodhi shakes his head. "Just got in. My body's still readjusting to a circadian rhythm.”

“Long flight?”

Bodhi lets out a half-laugh. “You could say that.”

“Where to?”

Bodhi hesitates.

“There’s a lot of cargo pilots here, but I was never really told what cargo the pilots have, or where they go.”

Another shrug from Bodhi. “Most of us pilots aren’t told what our cargo is. And trips vary. Recently there’s been a lot of going around the sector, bringing in imports. But I just spent two weeks making non-stop trips between the Jaso and Atravis sectors.”

Cassian stores that away for later. “And they don’t tell you what you were carrying.”

Bodhi shakes his head. “I’m just the pilot.”

“So what do you do now?”

“Between the longer flights, we get about a week off. Maybe a few more flights within the sector, but nothing more than a couple hours out. What about you?" he hurriedly asks. “What keeps you up this late?”

"Just feeling restless, I suppose. Perhaps either Director Krennic or Captain Rallik are saying unkind things about me, and it's keeping me up."

"Isn't it supposed to make your ears burn?"

Cassian waves a hand. "There are so many different versions of that superstition. For those that believe in superstition."

"There are worst things to believe in," Bodhi murmurs. And then his eyes go wide, just slightly, and he tenses, just slightly. He would be an awful spy.

But, perhaps… 

"I should get back to bed," Bodhi says. "Or at least try to." And then he scampers off.

*

By the next day, he’s already settling into a system. He had been too honest with Bodhi, when he said that he was restless. It’s effective planning of the Empire – keep personal areas cramped and uncomfortable, brightly lit to keep officers feeling always exposed. It’s not pleasant, but being able to detect it makes it easier to manage.

Work, eat, exercise… 

*

“Still not sleeping well?”

Bodhi shakes his head. “It takes a few days to settle.”

“And then you’re sent back out.”

He shrugs. “At least we’re given some time between longer trips.”

“That’s true. What’s the longest trip you’ve been on?”

“Uh, I had a few cargo pick-ups along the Shwuy Exchange that I took to the Saraveen Sector. Whole thing took nearly two standard months.”

“What do you think about on longer trips?”

Another shrug. “At a certain point, you just stop thinking.”

It’s not the best deflection, it’s not the worst deflection. “Do you ever get time to travel wherever you want to go?”

“Nah,” Bodhi says.

Cassian considers him. “If you could go anywhere – where would you go?”

“Hapes.”

“That was a pretty immediate answer,” Cassian says. “But I’m not familiar with the planet.”

“It’s along the Perlemian Trade Route, and I’ve always hoped that I would be able to detour, but there’s never enough time.”

“Have you considered…?”

Bodhi’s eyes go wide, and his voice drops into a whisper. “Going rogue?”

Cassian shrugs.

Bodhi looks away. “Yeah. Once.”

Cassian knows allies and informants. He knows what turn looks like. Bodhi is teetering, and Cassian knows he could sway him. But time is not on his side, and so he only has delicacy.

And right now this is too delicate, too much of a risk.

Bodhi clears his throat and excuses himself, and Cassian lets him go.

*

Cassian is readying to leave his next shift – and then eat, and then go to the cramped excuse of a gym, and then plan a way to hone the mission plan, and then sleep – when one of the officer clears their throat.

Officer Desga, a nondescript officer who has kept his head down so long as Cassian has been on Eadu.

"Yes, Officer?" Cassian asks.

"Every few nights... well, there aren't exactly a lot of places to go out and unwind, so different quarters host little get togethers. Just a few hands of sabacc, some laughing, some storytelling, just some time to unwind."

Cassian reads between the lines. "Is there anything elicit going on during these nights?"

He clears his throat again. "Some casual drinking, beyond what rations certain superior officers might deem appropriate, but nothing too wild. Just drinking and cards. You're invited, if you want to come."

Cassian needs to make friends. "Whose bunk?"

"Just follow me after shift."

*

There are three bunks in the room, two against either side, one moved to block the doorway from the rest of the room. 

There are just over a dozen people in the room. Enough to seem like a gathering, not so much that it is suffocating. There’s a murmur of conversation, but it’s not loud. The faces are all familiar, either those he works with or has seen around the base.

Bodhi is among them, sitting on one of the lower bunks. His expression is closed off, but a wide, relieved smile sweeps over his face.

Cassian goes over to him. "Bodhi."

"Cassian," he replies.

"Do you come to a lot of these?' Cassian asks, sitting down beside him.

Bodhi shrugs a shoulder. "When I'm not just off a long haul. It's not... it's a bit louder than I like, but there are a few guys I know, that are easy to talk to. It's nice. Just unwind."

"And drink," Cassian adds, nodding down at his glass.

"You're not going to write me up, are you?" Bodhi asks, but it's mostly unconcerned.

"I absolutely am."

"Should dispose of the evidence, then," he says, and downs the rest. "You want any?"

Cassian shakes his head. "Best not to." There is no concern when he drinks to spill secrets, that's been tested many times, but it's best for the cover.

"Your loss," Bodhi murmurs. He leaves the bed to get a refill, but he returns within the minute, elbow brushing against Cassian’s.

Over the course of the next hour, Cassian fine-tunes his cover. He ends up with a bottle of beer pressed into his hand. It’s possibly the worst tasting beer he has ever had, and he nurses it slowly.

The door slips open, and a hush spreads through the room.

"Sergeant Willix."

Cassian sets his bottle down on the ground, pushes himself to standing, and turns to look at Rallik.

"With me," she orders, before turning and striding out of the room.

Bodhi shoots him a worried, uncertain look, and Cassian shrugs.

There’s discontent murmuring as Cassian makes his way around the room. “As you were,” he says, as lightly as he can, then slips out.

Rallik is waiting halfway down the hallway, facing the wall.

"Yes, Captain?" Cassian asks.

She turns on her heel to address him fully. "Are you aware of how many regulations you were breaking?"

"Six."

Her eyes narrow. "Seven."

“Six,” he repeats.

“ _Seven_ ,” she says, eyes flashing. Her gaze flicks down to his neck. “Your hair is too long for regulation.”

He frowns.

"How long have you been on this base, Sergeant?"

"Three days, Captain."

"Despite what officers think when they are brought here, your assignment here is not a fluff mission. There are assets that are invaluable to the Empire here, and it is not fitting for a newly stationed sergeant to be so flagrant in breaking so many regulations."

"I apologize, Captain, but In my experience, men respond best to knowing their commanding officers are just as human as they are."

"In my experience, men respond best to knowing who is in charge."

It hangs in the air, and Cassian stares down at her, curious despite himself. "Shall I go disband the gathering, or do you think it would be more valuable for you to do so?"

Her eyes narrow. "If it's not disbanded by the time I return in five minutes, then I will hold you personally accountable, Sergeant." She turns and stalks off.

Cassian returns to the room, looking to the lookout. "Break it up," he says, and slips out before there’s time for the officers to grumble at him.

Bodhi follows him down the hallway. "What was that about? Are you in trouble?"

Cassian shakes his head. "No, I don’t think Rallik is going to report this, so long as everyone’s gone. Has a superior officer ever…?”

Bodhi shakes his head. “I mean, they all know about what goes on, but they look the other way.”

“So why…?”

“Don’t know. But you sure got her attention," he murmurs.

Her attention.

Maybe.

Maybe....

*

Cassian’s quarters are dark when he returns. There’s no individual light controls within the quarters, they instead brighten and fade with officer’s shift hours. In the dark and in the silence, he stares up at the ceiling.

He’s stationed at the Advanced Weapons Research Division of the Empire. He needs to find out what the advanced weapon is.

He had planned on a taking information in small snatches, finding the right time to ask an offhand question; quietly piece together what was needed, do so without drawing attention or suspicion.

But if he has the attention of Captain Rallik, of the second highest officer on the base… 

A high-ranking officer at a young age. Being groomed to power by a Lieutenant Colonel. Power-hungry, surely. An idealist, perhaps. Someone who wants and values control. He knows the type, he just needs to make himself her type.

*

The next night, he seeks her out in the mess hall.

She eats alone, no one in the orbit of tables around her, with the best exit vantage in the room. Between her eye-line and the clack of his boots against the tile, she easily catches his approach.

"Captain Rallik," Cassian greets. He can’t smile at her, it would draw too many suspicions. Besides, she would rather have acquiescence than a smile. "I would like to apologize for my behavior last night. As you said, it was not befitting my station at this post."

Her gaze is even, quiet, assessing. “It was not,” she agrees. “Did you inform the officers that they were prohibited from such gatherings in the future.”

“Yes.”

For the first time, she almost seems pleased.

"I hope this event will not have you thinking poorly of me," he continues.

"That still remains to be seen, Sergeant."

He hears the dismissal. It’s another delicacy that he cannot dedicate himself fully to, but he has to treat carefully in the time that he does have. "Captain," he replies, nodding his own dismissal.

He goes to get his tray for a dinner he barely registers. He seats himself away from those he had been with last night, both for Rallik’s benefit and as they would likely prefer it.

A few minutes pass, and then Bodhi is sitting across from him.

"I wouldn't be offended if you found somewhere else to eat," Cassian tells him.

Bodhi shrugs. "I don't– I don't really have anything to hide. To lose. If any higher officers–" his gaze darts to Rallik "–were to pry into my business. Besides, you're friendlier than they are."

Cassian smiles, and it’s not a smile purely for the potential benefit of winning Bodhi over as a contact.

Bodhi smiles back.

*

He spends the next day weighing out all his options, and then he once more approaches Rallik in the mess hall.

"Captain Rallik,” Cassian greets.

She waits.

“I apologize for interrupting you at dinner, but do you have a few moments?”

“For what purpose?”

Cassian sets down his datapad, facing it towards her. “I have a question regarding yesterday’s posted security briefing. I noticed that there is a conflict of information between these two sections…"

She seems pleased that he caught it, and is all too willing to discuss the matter with him.

*

And then Cassian goes to get his dinner and sit with Bodhi.

*

It’s three nights into this new routine before Bodhi clears his throat.

Cassian raises an eyebrow.

Bodhi taps his fingers along the table, reluctance evident in the line of his frown. After a few long moments, he blurts out, “Why her?”

“Hm?”

“I know there aren’t a lot of female officers posted here, but you could request to chaperone on a day trip. You wouldn’t be the first officer to do so. It’s less risky than going after Rallik. Krennic will demote you if he even gets the suspicion you wanna…”

Cassian raises an eyebrow. “She’s higher ranking, I need her not to dislike me.”

“If you say so…”

“I can’t speak for you, but I would prefer it if I were not to mysteriously vanish.”

Bodhi’s mouth quirks into a smile, and he turns back to his food.

*

A Stormtrooper stops him on his way to the mess hall the next morning. “Halt, Sergeant Willix.”

Cassian stops and turns on his heel, sliding into Imperial standing posture.

“Dr. Erso has not reported for duty. It is requested that you go retrieve him and escort him to the lab.”

Cassian nods.

“We are not permitted to interact with Dr. Erso, but I will show you to his quarters.”

There’s a different clack to the boots of the Stormtroopers against the boots of Imperial officers.

Cassian spends the walk memorizing the difference.

The Stormtrooper stops outside a door, turns on his heel and stands guard.

Cassian knocks on the door. "Dr. Erso, this is Sergeant Willix.”

There’s no reply.

He raises his voice. “Dr. Erso, this is Sergeant Willix. Please open the door."

There’s a quiet shuffling noise from within, and then the door opens. Dr. Erso gestures for him to enter, a wide gesture as he retreats back into the room.

The few engineers Cassian has seen have all been in white coveralls, light blue stretching from collar to collar.

Instead, Dr. Erso is dressed in a pair of dark grey pajama bottoms, a black sleeping shirt. He’s stumbling as he makes his way to a couch in the middle of the room. It’s not his room, not his quarters, but what seems to be an entire suite, with a wide window open to the stormy weather of outside.

Leaning over to the low table across from him, Dr. Erso grabs a crystal bottle with a clear liquid and pours himself a small glass.

Cassian glances down to the glass. "There has been some concerned expressed regarding your not reporting in for duty," he says, smoothly.

Dr. Erso lets out a long sigh, and knocks the alcohol back. And then he’s back on his feet, going to the far end of the suite and flips on a switch.

A low humming fills the air.

"You can speak openly, Sergeant," Dr. Erso says as he moves back to the couch. He looks back up to Cassian. His gaze looks sad, something broken in his expression. Everything about him is defeated. “You can speak openly.”

"Are you alright?" Cassian asks.

He shakes his head. "That's not important. The important question.... did Saw send you here to kill me?"

Cassian narrows his eyes. "I'm afraid I don't–"

"You're not an Imperialist.”

“I don’t–”

“They can’t hear us. I built and designed it myself. Whatever surveillance measures they may have installed here, they won’t work.”

Cassian doesn’t reply.

Erso leans in. “I don't know how you got stationed here, you must have some good connections, either Saw's or better, but you're not an Imperialist. You're an Alliance spy. Are you here to kill me?"

This could be a trap. It’s a gambit that Cassian has pulled before, fake being an ally to gain valuable intel. If Cassian confirms that he’s with the Alliance, the Stormtrooper posted outside could come in and seize him. Cassian could take down one Stormtrooper, of course, but they could have called for back-up, and there is no way Cassian could fight as many as they would send.

Cassian doesn’t trust anyone. Staring down at Erso, he doesn’t trust the man.

But he knows it's impossible to fake that level of desperation.

"My mission is to investigate the superweapon the Empire is building."

"It's called the Death Star. It’s a planet destroyer.”

A chill goes down Cassian’s spine.

Erso pours himself another drink, a longer drink, hand trembling. “I designed it. I… Krennic came to find me. He… he killed my wife, he took me and my daughter, and I knew that… that if I had been uncooperative, they would have hurt Jyn, or they would have found someone else, more willing, who wanted the project to prosper. I thought that maybe, if I stayed on, I could delay them, while not seeming like I was delaying them. But I–” He knocks back the drink. “I didn’t delay them, not enough. If you’re here… If you’re Alliance… then maybe this wasn’t all in vain. Maybe there is still hope.”

Cassian shoots out a hand to keep Erso from pouring another drink. “What hope?”

“I built a flaw into the Death Star.”

“A–” Cassian can barely speak. He’s uncovered so many ugly secrets and uglier truths, but this is… “A flaw.”

Erso nods. “The complete archival plans for the Death Star are Scarif. Stardust. The plans are called Stardust. And there’s a thermal exhaust, and one well-aimed shot can destroy the whole system. Get back the Alliance, get the plans from Scarif, and you, the Rebellion, you…” 

Cassian turns towards the door. “I will inform your commanding officers that you are not feeling well, and let you have your privacy.”

*

Cassian moves through the day with nothing more on mind than his escape plan.

It’s been an idle thought in the back, and has been since he first set foot on the planet. There’s a shuttle depot not too far from the base. The rough sketch of the plan to steal one of the shuttles and make his way back to Yavin 4, though not before swapping through a few different ships.

Get through the day, eat dinner, replace his gym workout with a casual stroll to the shuttle depot.

In the scant room of his closet, there’s a rain jacket which he slips over his Imperial uniform.

He opens the door.

Rallik is standing there, hand raised to activate the comm. She’s dressed down to a white athletic tank and heather gray sweatpants. Her eyes widen just a fraction, but her expression smooths back to neutral within the second. “Sergeant.”

“Is everything alright, Captain?” he asks.

Her gaze flicks down to his attire. “I was wondering if perhaps you might want to spar.” She looks down at his uniform again. “Unless you had other plans for the evening.”

“I had been planning to step outside for a few minutes.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “You are a fan of the rain?”

“More a fan of fresh air.” After a long moment, he adds, “But I suppose I could postpone my walk. A spar is far preferable to the rain. I’ll just need a few minutes to change into something more fitting.”

Her gaze flicks down his body. Then her shoulders square, and she nods. “I’ll meet you at the gym.”

*

Jyn is in the middle of the gym, back to the door, going through a series of stretches. She’s barefoot, and Cassian takes the permission to slide off his own boots, setting them beside her own. Hers are far better polished.

When he turns back to the floor, Jyn is staring at him. She smiles, but it’s more a baring of her teeth. “Best out of three?” she offers.

He rolls his shoulders back. Between her bare shoulders and bare feet, she looks far less intimidating. He should be able to take the first point.

The thought doesn’t last long.

Cassian winds up thrown to the floor, Jyn sitting on his chest, both of his wrists in one of her hands, a baton at his throat. Where did she get that baton? He stares up at her, wondering where he could get a baton to match, if he could break her grip before she could injure him, how much he can fight back in a 'friendly' spar, what he would do if this were a real fight.

Jyn frowns down at him, gaze flashing. "I won," she tells him.

He stares back up at her. The shape of her eyes is familiar, as is the broken expression. He takes a gamble. "If you say so, Captain Erso."

Her grip on his wrists goes painful. There’s something ugly beneath her mask of indifference, twisting her mouth into a snarl. She pushes up off of him, leaves the gym without looking back.

*

Cassian does his best to keep to himself, so to avoid Captain Rallik – Captain Erso – Jyn –  as he goes through the day.

*

He is debating seeking out Bodhi when there's a knock at his door.

Jyn is standing there. She’s in the same attire as the other night, though her hair is down from the braids, instead pulled back into a simple plait. Her bangs falling to cover her forehead. "Rematch?" she asks.

Cassian blinks a few times. “I lost the point, shouldn’t I be the one to ask for a rematch?”

“We didn’t get to three points.”

He shrugs a shoulder, puts on a pair of shoes, and he follows her to the gym.

*

Jyn fights dirty, and knocks him down hard to take the point. She straddles him, knees on either side of his hips, hands keeping his own above his head, and Cassian only has a moment to be glad that she hasn’t produced a baton before she grinds down against him.

He stiffens, his breath catching.

She bares her teeth down at him. “Don’t act so surprised,” she tells him. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

He can’t help the low moan as she rolls down again.

Her body shifts, bending down to breath in his ear, “It feels like this is what you want.”

He needs this to be what _she_ wants, and Cassian experiments by rocking his hips up against her.

Her breathing hitches.

Good.

He breaks her hold on his wrists, grabbing her shoulders and rolling them so her back is on the mat. One arm bracing him and his free hand curling against her hip, he thrusts against her.

She breathes through her teeth, and her hands grab the sides of his face, pulling him in for a kiss. It’s hard and urgent, her mouth hot and needy. Another thrust against her, and she gasps into his mouth. He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Then her hands are traveling down, shoving his pants down his thighs.

He lifts his hips, giving her room to pull her own pants down. This is not where he thought they would end up, fucking in the middle of the gym, but at the same time, he’s not entirely surprised. He moves his hand down to her knee, pressing her open wider. It’s an easy slide in.

She turns and muffles her cry against his neck. As he starts to slowly thrust into her, she cards her hands through his hair, fingers curling around the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Too long for regulation?” he murmurs.

She bites his neck, just below his jaw, and it’s sharp and draws a swear from him. It will be visible above his collar and he thrusts into her harder, drawing a similar grunt from her. There are small shifts and minor repositioning, until they settle into a smooth rhythm. 

Her hips start shifting up against him faster. “Look at me, Sergeant, that’s an order.”

He skims his hand up her side, fingertips resting where her placard would be, palm on her breast. “There’s no ranks here,” he tells her.

She presses against his hand and moans. She clenches around him, but she returns her hands to his hair, tugging him to meet her gaze. “Look at me, Cassian.”

His hips don’t pause the rhythm they’ve hit. He stares down at her. Is she playing him? Cassian has used sex for interrogations, the facade of intimacy allowing for the opportunity to tease out intel. Has he garnered her suspicion? What is she hoping to get out of him?

She flinches, fingers digging into his neck. Her mouth against his is hot and angry, frantic against him. “ _Look at me_.”

“What do you want to see?” he growls. “What do you want me to see?”

Her arms go around his neck, pulling him in closer. She bites his bottom lip. There’s no space between them, bodies pressed flushed against each other, rocking against each other.

He keeps sliding his hand up and down her side, forehead touching down against hers.

She shivers, and then she’s clenching around him, gasping as she comes.

He isolates this moment – takes out the context of the mission and the war. She’s just another broken, vulnerable human being, her face flushed in pleasure and so warm against him. It pushes him over the edge, pleasure coursing through him.

The moment stretches between them, gaze held, sweat cooling, breath mingling.

The moment ends.

Cassian pulls back, and Jyn slides out from under him, grabbing her boots and slipping out of the gym.

*

A Stormtrooper fetches him the next afternoon.

“Captain Rallik would like to speak with you, Sergeant.”

As Cassian follows, he hears K2’s voice doomsaying in the back of his head. He can’t do the calculations, not as quick as K2, so he throws in random values. _There is a 5.98% chance Captain Erso will not kill you. There is a 3.81% chance that Director Krennic will not kill you. Combined, there is a 2.187% chance that you will make it back to Yavin 4._

"I've been looking into your file, Sergeant Willix."

Cassian nods, doesn't reply.

"It's a very… streamlined file." There's a disdainful look on her face. "How does one quite manage that?"

"I do my best to fly under the radar."

She hums. Goes back to skimming the datapad. "Why did you join the Empire, Sergeant?"

Cassian hates mining his past and making it compliant for the Empire, but all best lies hold some truth. "The war started when I was six. I lost my family. There was no other possible option than to fight."

She gazes at him for a very long minute.

"What about you?"

She startles – it's just a twitch of a neck muscle, but he caught her off guard and they both know it. She clears her throat. "I was six years old. Rebels came to our farm and killed my mother. Director Krennic arrived in time to save my father and myself. He’s been like a second father to me ever since. He has helped raise me to understand that the Empire is the only way to bring peace to the galaxy.”

“And your father?”

Her gaze goes flinty, as does her voice as she says, “You’re dismissed, Sergeant.”

*

He’s returning to his post when he hears Bodhi’s voice call out his name.

Cassian turns and watches as Bodhi jogs down the hall to catch up with him.

“I was wondering where you were, your superiors said you were needed by Captain Rallik, and I… I’m glad I could catch up to you.”

Cassian doesn’t frown, and only lets a bit of his concern bleed through as he asks, “Is everything alright, Bodhi?”

“Yeah, yeah, just… do you have a minute?”

Cassian nods, then lets himself be led down a series of hallways to a quiet, dim nook. “Is everything alright?” he repeats. He can’t imagine how Bodhi has been compromised – how Bodhi could have compromised him. He has his rough plan of how to leave Eadu immediately, and he will leave right now if that is what is needed, but that doesn’t mean he wants to.

“Yeah, fine, I’m just heading out to Jedha. Soon.”

Cassian can’t help the frown. "How soon?"

"Uh, I got them to let me delay for a couple of hours, but I need to head out, and I just wanted to delay until I could…" He trails off, and it takes a moment for him to meet Cassian’s gaze.

Cassian holds it. “Jedha?”

"It's a, uh, moon. Across the galaxy, near the unknown regions. It's a huge assignment. I don't know what for, but it’s vital, and the mission doesn’t have an estimation of a return to Eadu, and…"

Cassian nods. He can't stop staring at Bodhi.

Bodhi stares back. He swallows.

Cassian takes the two steps in closer and pulls Bodhi to him, pulls Bodhi into a kiss.

Bodhi's hands immediately go to grip at Cassian's shoulders, holding him into the kiss until they're both breathless. "You're not going to be here when I get back, are you?" he asks, breathless.

Cassian just kisses him again. He doesn't get attached, and this isn't attachment. This is preference, this is attraction. He dips his forehead against Bodhi's. "I hope to see you again."

Bodhi stares at Cassian, gaze searching. He nods.

Cassian takes his arm. "You have the opportunity to make a difference," he says.

Bodhi's hand goes to his pocket. "I know." And then he's gone.

*

Cassian finishes his shift, has dinner, and goes out to examine the shuttle depot.

*

There is no official curfew, but Cassian returns closer to the unofficial curfew than he would prefer.

His clothes are soaking wet and his mood is rather irritable. He returns to his quarters, and shucks off his jacket, throwing it to land with a wet noise on the ground. He turns to get his sleeping clothes, standing in his black undershirt and Imperial green trousers and his blaster isn't in his closet. He listens, and he kicks himself. "Are you here to kill me?"

"You lied to me."

Cassian turns around. In the dim light of his quarters, he can see the outline of Jyn's figure on his bed. She is dressed similarly as he is-- in the fuzzy area between dress uniform and casual. "I'm sorry?"

She huffs a laugh, and shakes her head. “Are you really?” she asks. “Captain Cassian Andor?”

He stares down at her.

She holds his gaze. Her own is flashing, flinty.

Beneath it, Cassian reads surprise, hurt.

He doesn't reply.

Her mouth twists into something between a frown and a snarl. She shakes her head and slips past him.

*

He wakes up the next morning, and is very surprised to have woken up.

His cover has been blown, but he has learned there are various ways a cover can be blown. He goes to the mess hall for breakfast, and no one reacts to him. When there’s a wide-alert about a traitor, there is always at least one who cannot keep their composure, but the only real noticeable difference is the fact that Bodhi is gone.

He goes through his shift, playing his role perfectly, being the competent sergeant they expect from him, while mentally reciting his escape plan to himself. Jyn knows who he is. Cassian knows who she is. Jyn knows he could have turned around and left, and Jyn could have had Stormtroopers posted ready to arrest Cassian if he headed to the shuttles. Cassian anticipated she must have, and did not go last night.

Will she have Stormtroopers posted tonight? Likely.

Will she have Stormtroopers posted tomorrow night? Also likely. But as time goes on, the potential for her to have Stormtroopers posted to watch him is less likely. However, as time goes on, it’s more likely that she will turn him in.

He knows, deep in the pit of his stomach, that he made the right call not to leave last night. In that same way he knows he must leave tonight.

He’s leaving the mess hall and on his way to his quarters to prepare for his departure when his vision goes blurry.

*

He wakes up, but he doesn't – more than any sense of fear, he’s angry that he let his defenses slip, that he let himself get drugged. He became tunnel-visioned in a way he’s never let himself become before, he didn’t expect this to be part of the bluff, his vigilance lapsed.

He's been drugged. He may be killed.

The Rebellion will lose an intelligence officer, but they may still find the information some way or another. Bodhi, maybe, or Galen, maybe, or someone, someone else.

Pain explodes across his face.

"Where is the Rebel Alliance?"

"I don't know," Cassian says.

He thinks of K2. K2 going over all the training techniques, allowing for Cassian to anticipate the blows, how they work. He makes it into a pattern, into something he can anticipate, something he can plan for. He doesn’t ignore the pain, he acknowledges it, and then he isolates it. After he isolates it, he lets it go. Rib fracture, zygomatic fracture, bruised diaphragm, dislocated shoulder. He acknowledges the injury, lets go of the pain. He doesn’t need the pain, he has trained himself out of feeling pain, he can and has lived without it.

“Where is the Rebel Alliance?” they ask.

“I don’t know,” Cassian replied through the blood.

It repeats, and it repeats, and it repeats.

Cassian has been through worse, and even if he makes it through this, he will later go through worse.

The pain becomes more and more reluctant to be let go.

Through it, voice sharp and clear, Jyn says, “I’d like to take him to Lord Vader.”

*

It’s some time before he fully comes back to himself. His wrists are shackled behind him. The floor is cold and hard against his broken cheekbone. His body is cold and cramped. Breathing hurts. He’s alive. It sends a shiver through him, and his mind works harder to fight the fog.

He’s alive. He’s been injured. He didn’t give up any information. And now… 

Now…  
 He frowns, trying to connect the final dots.

“It’s a four day trip to Mustafar.”

Cassian finally opens his eyes and looks up. He’s on the floor of the cabin of a small transport ship. Jyn is sitting in the pilot’s chair, turned towards him, gaze unreadable.

“I’m going to pass back out,” he tells her, and then he does.

*

He startles awake. His heart is racing, and he doesn’t know why his lungs ache and it feels like he can’t breathe, but he feels like he can’t breath. He rolls from his side to his front, getting his knees under him, forehead staying on the ground, taking all pressure off his torso. He spends a few moments silently gasping for air, his head suddenly pounding.

Jyn is taking him to Mustafar because Jyn is taking him to Vader.

He pushes himself up to kneeling.

Jyn is in the pilot’s seat. Her shoulders shake as she silently sobs.

“Jyn?”

She stills. Her entire body transforms, posture straightening, face going lax. She turns around. “Yes?” she asks, voice completely neutral, no hint of the tears on her face.

He is delirious with pain, and there are so many things he has trained himself out of saying in this state, but he can’t help but say, “You’re a good spy.”

Her expression crumples for a fraction of a second, and then she says, “If I were a good spy, I would have been able to get the location of the Rebel base out of you.”

“You’re a good spy,” he repeats. “But I’m better.”

She snorts. “You’re–” she starts, but cuts herself off. “I’m surprised you’re conscious.”

“Frankly? Me too.” He wonders if it’s worth asking for water.

But her gaze on him is sharp and she asks, “Do you remember losing your parents?”

“Yes.”

“Clearly?”

“Yes.”

“You were six. It was twenty years ago. You don’t… you couldn’t’ve misremembered anything?”

He doesn’t know why she’s asking him this. He doesn’t know why he’s being honest. But, “You don’t forget something like that.”

Another one of her mouth twisting. She shakes her head. Tears fall. “Krennic – he killed my mother. Right before me and my father. My father left the Empire, he took my mother and me and he fled. We were living on a farm on Lah’mu, and Krennic came, and he killed my mother, and I hated him, and he convinced me that I misremembered what happened, that it was Rebels that killed her, and after long enough I started to believe him. He’s been like a second father to me, almost– almost closer than my relationship to my real father, because I…”

She goes quiet for a long time.

Cassian lists to the side. His shackles are chained to the wall, and there’s not much room to maneuver, but he leans his side against a seating bench. He pulls his legs out from under him, crossing them in front of him instead. It’s still not comfortable, but it’s more comfortable, and he’s not in as much pain. He tilts his head to watch Jyn.

Jyn is watching him back. “Where’s the Rebel base?”

Choosing somewhere between Eadu and Mustafar would be too obvious. “Dantooine. Will you take me there?”

“No.”

“Would you take yourself there?”

“What?” she asks. It’s sharp and startled.

Cassian remembers her father’s words. “You’re not an Imperialist,” he tells her. 

“I’m–”

“Not an Imperialist,” he repeats. He has taken so many gambles with her already, and so he continues, “The reason why you were able to break my cover? Because you recognized in me everything you see in yourself – all the dogma you said, your reasoning why you joined the Empire? It’s nothing more than a recitation of what others have told you, what you’ve needed to say to stay alive. Krennic killed your mother, and you’ve always known that. You may have joined his side and acted as his dutiful protege, but you’ve never been loyal to him, and you’ve never been loyal to the Empire.”

It rings in the air between them.

"Jyn, you can join the Rebellion.”

She shakes her head. “No,” she says. “I– I’m not an Imperialist, not like– not like Krennic is, but I– I can't leave my father on Eadu. I have to make him see that what he's doing is wrong, I have to make him see that…"

Cassian doesn't reply.

Her eyes water. "I don't have to," she says, softly. "He already does."

Cassian still doesn’t reply.

She turns away, her head dropping to her hands.

This time, her sobs are not silent.

*

It hasn’t been four days when they drop out of hyperspace. Not unless Cassian was unconscious longer than he thought. But when he shuffles to standing, as best as he can, it’s not Mustafar that fills the viewport.

“Where are we?” Cassian asks.

Jyn ignores him. She drops into atmo and pilots down to a docking bay. Once the ship has landed, she spends a long moment staring out the viewport, and then she’s turning and striding to Cassian, turning him so she can unlock his shackles. “I needed to refuel,” she announces. “You overpowered me.”

Cassian rubs at his chafed wrists and stares down at her.

“We’re at the Mos Eisley spaceport. You can easily find a way to Dantooine, or wherever else you may need to go.”

Cassian keep staring down at her, assessing. “Losing an intelligence officer with the Rebellion… that is a big mistake.”

She gives him a humorless smile. “I’ve spent the past decade and a half at Krennic’s side. He has no reason to doubt my word. I start a fight at the nearest cantina, get bruised up to sell the story, and return to Krennic crying. I’ve never failed a mission before, he’ll pity me too much to be suspicious.”

“Do you really want to go back to Eadu?”

“I need to,” she says, simply. “With my security clearance… I like to think I can make up for some of the time I’ve wasted if I arrive at Dantooine with all the intel I can access.”

“Yavin 4,” he corrects. He wraps his hand around her neck, dips his forehead against hers. He keeps her gaze as he tells her, “I’ll be there to welcome you.”

Jyn’s gaze flutters closed. “Go,” she tells him.

Cassian nods, forehead grazing against hers. And then he steps down onto the sand, twin suns beating down on his neck, and he leaves to find a pilot.


End file.
